A Show of Hands
Sonnet 1: The Moderates' Plea
There can't be peace between the wolf and flock;
There can't be ease between the hawk and hare.
There can't be better fit than key and lock;
There can't be better match than ma and care.
So told them, arrant—we who stand in ruin—
That bargain can't be struck for lash and back,
Or settle not the scores on blood so soon,
Nor hunt the hare and bitten piece-meal sack.
Again we ask—is key and lock our way,
Shall we be hand in hand, within lockstep?
Again we ask—is spear and boar our lay,
Forever, end to end, on side and wept?
So, call for show of hands for shallow deaths,
Or call for show of hands for easy breaths.
Sonnet 2: The Radicals' Response
Or call for show of hands for easy breaths?
This way, the kings have fed on us so long.
Our grains of blood were woven into wreaths;
Our silent pain became disdainful song.
Like bed bugs, they have dried and ****** our blood;
A greedy vermin makes no truce with food.
And, pushed in ground—for we are only mud—
So, call for pyres to burn, and fetch the wood.
So, melt the lock, for key is broken, stuck.
The spear must drain the boar, for winter comes.
So, march in lockstep, as we need to pluck
The monster heads for whom this song we hum.
So, call for show of hands for strangled breath.
The call for show of hands for estate death.
Sonnet 3: Regret at the Revolution’s End (Robespierre's death)
The call for show of hands for estate death!
And now we end the path of blood we took.
As skulls became the cobblestones we tread;
In name of drop, how rivers bled from rook.
The crown we broke in two now grins at graves,
As liberty devours her fairest son,
With ******, jagged teeth and smiles of knaves;
Reminds of fight where only blade has won.
So many boars were drained, that spear-head broke,
And monster heads now drop in prayers, quite,
To add the last of drops to rills we woke.
The chains we forged from melted words we smite.
Deceived as wolf and flock by freedom's lock,
There can't be peace between the wolf and flock.
